


Tales From the Park Bench

by lalakate



Series: Play Dates and Park Benches [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, Family, Modern AU, Play Dates and Park Benches, additional tales in the PDPB universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 12,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: A collection of drabbles in the Play Dates and Park Benches Universe inspired by prompts sent to me on tumblr.





	1. Seven

"Well, then."

Matthew sneaked another glance in her direction, itching to hold her hand, wondering how she would react if he tried. They strolled behind an exhausted trio, both smiling as Isobel kept encouraging the girls towards their cars.

"Well, then," Mary echoed, walking closer to him than was necessary. "I think the Fall Festival was a bonafide success."

"Especially the Ring Toss Booth," he grinned, nudging her gently, rewarded by a laugh.

"How could it not be with the two of us in charge," she returned, gazing at him from under thick lashes. "The only downside of the evening was that I didn't get to tie you up." A coughing spasm made him stop in his tracks. "Are you alright?" she inquired, tapping him on the back, the scent of her perfume tickling his nose.

"I will be," he managed through sporadic coughs mixed with laughter. "As soon as I can breathe again."

His mother had paused, their daughters gazing back at them with no trace of amusement.

"I'm fine, mother," he attested, watching Isobel roll her eyes before setting off again, Belle and Anna nearly skipping to keep up.

"Sorry," Mary quipped. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble." His chuckle made her insides flutter.

"If that's what getting in trouble with you feels like, you have my full permission to toss me into the dog house any time you wish." Her gaze dropped to the pavement as her teeth nipped her bottom lip.

"Is that an invitation, Crawley?"

His feet halted under him, an unsteady hand reaching out for her arm, turning her in his direction. God, was he really about to do this? Had he lost what was left of his mind?

"It could be," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you'd like it to be." Her eyes flickered in confusion, and she tilted her head as she stepped in closer.

"Wait," she breathed, trembling in spite of herself. "Are you asking me out on a date?" His face was so hot he would swear it could glow in the dark.

"If you have to ask, I suppose I'm not doing it very well." Her breath was unsteady, her mouth suddenly dry as she stared at this man winding his way around a heart she had feared untouchable.

"You're doing splendidly," she affirmed, giddy as a teenager being asked to the prom. Then reality hit…this was more, this was impossible, yet here they were, and he was…he was… "Yes," she blurted out, her eyes widening in a half-panicked state.

"Yes—you'll go out with me?" he questioned, the side of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Yes," she repeated, laughing at her own absurdity. "Yes, I'll go out with you. Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't sure…," he broke off, licking lips in an attempt to untwist them. "Do you like food?" She couldn't contain her giggle as he ransacked his hair in frustration. "Of course you like food, I mean, who doesn't?" he asked, shaking his head immediately as she tried to stifle her laughter. God—he was acting like a complete idiot. It was a wonder she hadn't run away screaming.

"I'm quite fond of food," she mused, tossing a glance towards their cars where three figures stood impatiently. "It would seem we have something else in common."

He laughed in spite of himself, daring to reach for her hand, feeling something akin to a jolt when he took it within his own. Her breath hitched at his touch.

"What I meant to ask was if you would like me to cook for you?" he managed, rubbing his thumb over silken skin, noticing stirrings in places he couldn't think about now, wondering if he had truly felt her shiver.

"That depends," she replied with a coy grin. "How good are you, Crawley?" He wished he had worn boxers.

"Good enough," he hummed, relieved his mother was clearly out of earshot.

She clutched her jacket tighter with her free hand, needing it to cover the immediate response of her breasts. "

How could I possibly turn down such an offer?" There it was—that lopsided grin that did things to her, that made her crave contact, that made her want to let him in. How in God's name was she supposed to resist that? Resist him?

"You can't," he returned, intertwining fingers with hers as they resumed their pace. "That's what I was counting on."

She filled her lungs deeply, relishing autumn's bite in an attempt to cool parts overheating.

"How is Saturday?" She closed her eyes at his question, already counting down hours until the next weekend arrived.

"Saturday is fine," she replied. "But I'll need to find a sitter."

"I'll check with mother," he offered, warily eyeing the very woman of whom he had just spoken. "I should be able to convince her to have the girls for a sleep-over so we can enjoy a night in together." The implications of what he had just uttered hit him as a snort of laughter flew out her nose. "God, I didn't mean…"

"Seven?" she asked, making an ordinary number sound ridiculously sensual.

"Seven," he returned, feeling a lightness in his step that was most unexpected. 


	2. Define Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna fears Matthew doesn't think of her as his real daughter.

Where in God's name had he left the camera?

He made another tour of the living room, heading towards the kitchen when a sniffle caught his attention.

"Is someone in here?" he asked, seeing no signs of life but sensing he was not alone. A tiny sob answered him, and he looked around in confusion, finally spotting pink sandals sticking out from underneath the kitchen table.

"Anna?" he began. "Is that you under there?" He knelt down to her level, feeling his heart clench at the sight of her weeping into her arms. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Why aren't you outside enjoying your own birthday party?"

Eyes so much like her mother's gazed back at him in silence, and he managed to crawl in beside her, laying an arm about her shoulders.

"It's something Kylie said," she stated, wiping a damp cheek with her hand.

"What on earth did she say to upset you badly?" She chocked back a sob, whimpering into his arm as she took a deep breath.

"Belle told her how much we want you and Mommy to have a baby," Anna replied quietly. "And Kylie said we were stupid."

"Why on earth would she say something like that?" Matthew shook his head in confusion, knowing instinctively he had not been given the full story.

"Because she's mean," Anna returned, her small face scrunching. "And because she said that if you two had a baby and it was a girl, that you would like her better than me."

The air was nearly knocked out of him, and he turned to face her head-on, trying desperately to form the right words. "

Is that true?" Her whisper tore at his insides, and he took her hands quickly, kissing her forehead as he shook his head.

"No," he answered decisively. "Not at all." She bit her bottom lip.

"But Belle's your real daughter," she reasoned quietly. "And the baby would be your real daughter. But I'm..." She broke off, staring at the floor. " I'm not."

His fingers stroked her hair, his heart so full and tender he thought it might burst then and there.

"That all depends on how you define real, sweetheart," he stated, tilting her chin until she looked right at him, not even attempting to fight the tears that threatened when she wrapped small arms around his neck.


	3. Positively Certain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle panics when Mary isn't feeling her best.

A small tug on her shirt grabbed her attention, making her stand up as straight as she could without falling over.

"Yes, Belle," she asked, forcing a smile she didn't feel as her head swam in circles.

"You're sick, arent' you?"

Haunted eyes stared up at her, rimmed with a shadow of fear unnatural for a child so young.

"I'm alright," Mary answered, stroking ginger waves to ward off welling tears. "You don't need to worry, Belle."

"You're not going to…" The child's voice broke off, and Mary noticed the girl was shaking. "You're not going to die, are you?" Of course she would be afraid. Belle had already lost one mother. Why wouldn't she fear losing another?

"No," Mary exclaimed, kneeling down a bit too quickly, closing her eyes to ward off a wave of nausea. "No, sweetheart. I just don't feel my best right now, that's all. But you don't need to be afraid, Belle."

"Promise?" She pulled the small body into and embrace as tight as she could muster, kissing the child's hair as she drew back slowly.

"Yes. I promise."

"But you're running a fever, aren't you?" Belle questioned, still trying to discern matters for herself.

"I don't think so," Mary returned, quirking her brow. "Why do you ask?"

"Because of that funny thermometer I saw in your bathroom," the girl answered, biting her lower lip. Mary's breath caught in her ribs.

"Funny thermometer?" she asked, trying her best to act unaffected. "What funny thermometer?"

"The one without any numbers," Belle replied. "Just a blue plus sign on it."

Mary sank to her knees on the floor.

"There's a blue plus sign—on the thermometer?" Mary breathed, her own hands starting to tremble. "You're sure? Not a minus sign?" Her stomach turned several cartwheels in a row.

"Nope," Belle returned. "I'm positively certain it's a plus sign. Do you want me to bring it to you?"

"No, no," Mary answered quickly. "I'll take care of it."

"So what does that mean?" Belle pressed, shaking her head. "Does plus mean you have a fever and minus mean you don't?" She blinked several times in succession in an attempt to both process and keep up.

"Not exactly," Mary answered, licking her lips. "It just means that I'm a-okay."

"But you don't look too good," Belle observed, reaching out to Mary's cheek.

"I'm very tired," Mary smiled. "I just need to lie down for a while." She stood and moved to the couch as Belle trailed behind her, propping her legs up as she melded into the cushions, her mind swirling in a hundred different directions at once.

"And you're sure you're not sick?" The child crawled up beside her, laying her cheek on Mary's chest.

"Positively certain," Mary answered, turning to face the girl just before closing her eyes. "But let's keep this our little secret for now. What do you say?" The idea of a shared conspiracy obviously excited Belle, and she finally grinned, wrinkling her nose.

"Good idea," Belle whispered, even though they were alone in the house. "'Cause Daddy can't keep a secret for anything."


	4. The Trouble with Grown-ups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle tries her best to keep Mary's secret from her daddy

"Mary," he called as he entered the house, Anna following right on his heels. "We're back."

"Shhh," Belle commanded, her face scrunching up. "She's sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Matthew questioned, looking back towards the bedroom in concern. "Is she feeling alright?"

The girl bit her lower lip, watching him intently without saying a word.

"Belle," he began, bending down to her level. "Is there something wrong? If there is, you need to tell me." The girl sighed, clearly confused as to what she should and should not say.

"I can't tell you," Belle admitted, twisting her hands together. "She told me it was our little secret, and you're not supposed to tell secrets without permission, no matter what." His brow creased in confusion, perplexed by what Mary could have asked Belle to keep from him.

"Sweetheart, if Mommy is sick, you need to tell me," he explained, taking her hands within his. "That's not something she would make you promise not to share."

"But it is," Belle insisted, nodding her head. "And she's not sick, just tired. At least, that's what the funny thermometer told her."

"Funny thermometer?" Matthew questioned. "What funny thermometer?"

"Oh, no," Belle cried, her eyes rounding in horror. "I wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"Does Mommy have a fever?" he asked, his eyes demanding an answer. "Answer me, Belle."

"No," Belle answered, swallowing hard. "It's not that kind of thermometer. It's the one that told her she was A-Okay." He shook his head, more confused than when he had begun this line of inquiry.

"Was it the one that goes in your ear or under your tongue?" he questioned, searching for clarity through a maze he couldn't seem to navigate.

"I don't know," Belle confessed with a shrug. "It didn't look like either one of those."

"Then what did it look like?" He snapped, losing what little patience he had left after navigating the grocery store with another six year old in tow.

"I'm not supposed to tell you," Belle insisted, on the verge of tears. He sighed, ransacking his scalp regretfully.

"I'm sorry, Belle," he apologized, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I'm just concerned about Mommy, that's all. If she's sick, I need to know." Belle bit her bottom lip, eyeing her father warily.

"She told me not to be worried," the girl finally confessed. "She said that the blue plus sign meant she was fine, just tired." His heart stopped in his chest.

"The blue plus sign?" he repeated, clearing his throat to bring his voice back down an octave.

"The one on the funny thermometer in your bathroom," Belle explained, hiding her face in embarrassment. "The one I wasn't supposed to tell you about." A peal of laughter hit him hard as everything fell into place.

"What's so funny?" Anna asked, moving into the conversation.

"Nothing, really," he answered with a grin. "Nothing at all. In fact, everything is A-Okay." The girls looked at each other in confusion, shrugging together as Matthew stood upright. "I'm going to peek in on Mommy now," he whispered, shaking his head yet again to absorb everything he wasn't supposed to know. "I promise to be very quiet," he assured them, practically tiptoeing around the corner and out of sight.

"What was that all about?" Anna asked.

"I have no idea," Belle admitted, rolling her eyes. "Grown-ups can be so confusing."


	5. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary's secret comes out in the open

Every limb felt heavy, her head still wrapped in a sensuous fog. It was far too much trouble to open her eyes, so she burrowed into the pillows instead, snuggling under the soft blanket as she breathed a thick sigh of contentment.

Blanket? She hadn't grabbed a blanket when she had lain down for her impromptu nap. Did it matter—really—how the blanket got there? It cocooned her perfectly, prompting her to push aside thoughts of cooking dinner and folding laundry in favor of ten more minutes of sleep. Yes. Ten more minutes would do nicely. Then she felt a slight movement beside her, stirring her curiosity much to her chagrin. Damn it. It was probably one of the girls needing something, something that would require her to get up, no doubt.

"Go ask your father," she mumbled, pulling the blanket up past her chin. A decidedly masculine chuckle rumbled beside her, and one eye begrudgingly forced itself open, taking in the form of the other adult in the household stretched out alongside her. "When did you get home?"

The words rasped from her throat, instigating a yawn she didn't attempt to hold back.

"About twenty minutes ago," he answered, smiling down at her in a manner she couldn't quite decipher. "How are you feeling?" He reached out to stroke her hair as she snuggled deeper into the mattress.

"Better," she murmured, narrowing her eyes. "Wait. How did you know I wasn't feeling well?"

"Belle told me," he shrugged as her eyes widened at the implication. "She said you were tired, actually, and I asked her if you were okay."

"Mmmm," she acknowledged, seeing more than what he was telling her lurking behind his gaze. "What exactly did she tell you?"

"That you were a-okay and did not have a fever," he grinned, cupping her cheek as he stroked it with his thumb.

"She's right," Mary stated, drawing her knees up further towards her chest. "Just worn out, I guess."

"Just worn out," he echoed, fighting back a small smirk. "Why don't you let me bring in dinner tonight, sweetheart, so you can get plenty of rest. You look like you need it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she questioned, her brow furrowed in a still groggy state.

"Just that you look tired," he responded, his touch extending down her arm still well covered.

"Did you put this on me?" she asked, rubbing the blanket, watching as the tips of his ears turned pink.

"Yes," he admitted freely, his caress now just above her hip, settling on her waistline as his eyes shone unnaturally.

"God," she exhaled. "She told you, didn't she?"

"Told me what?" he returned, putting his lawyering skills to good use.

"You know what," she insisted as she pushed herself up on her elbow. "Don't try to play games with me, Crawley."

"And just what game do you think I'm playing?" he tossed back, leaning in a bit closer.

"See—you're doing it already," she exclaimed. "And I'm in no mood for this right now."

"Can I get you anything?" he inquired, his expression softening immediately. "Are you hungry?"

"No," she returned. "I'm not hungry at all." He leaned in to kiss her when she pushed him back in alarm.

"God!" she cried. "What's that smell? What on earth are you wearing, Matthew?"

" _Hugo_ ," he answered, sniffing himself. "Your favorite."

"That's not _Hugo_ ," she insisted, closing her eyes as she fought off a wave of nausea. "And whatever it is, it's horrible."

"It is _Hugo_ ," he stated decisively, moving away from her reluctantly. "Do you want me to show you the bottle?" She gazed back at him.

"Stop looking at me that way."

"What way?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.

"That way."

"What way?"

"Like I'm pregnant, for God's sake!" She dropped back down on the pillow, tossing her arm over her forehead in resignation. He stretched his hand out slowly, afraid of coming to close and making her ill. His fingers touched down on her stomach, and her eyes locked onto his.

"Don't be angry with Belle," he whispered. "I was horrible to her, actually, and demanded that she tell me everything she knew. When she started talking about the funny thermometer with the blue plus sign, I…" He paused, biting his lower lip. "How are you, Mary? Really?"

Her eyes welled up as her hand pressed his flat to her abdomen.

"Tired," she breathed. "And a little overwhelmed. I never thought it would happen this quickly. I mean, I probably shouldn't be surprised as unexpected as Anna was, but I thought being older might make getting pregnant more difficult."

"But here we are," he smiled, raising her palm to his lips.

"Here we are," she echoed. "After only two months off birth control." She sighed into him, wanting to kiss him but needing him to stay at arms' length.

"Are you happy about it?" Blue eyes met brown head on, an inherent joy passing between them that elicited two broad smiles.

"Of course I am," she replied. "I'm thrilled. We're going to have a baby."

"God," he repeated, shaking his head with a laugh she felt everywhere. "We're going to have a baby."

"We're what?"

Belle's shriek from the doorway made them both sit up straight as Anna began jumping up and down in place.

"How long have you two been standing there?" Matthew questioned, attempting to look stern but failing miserably.

"Are we really having a baby Mommy?" Anna shot back, completely ignoring Matthew's question. "Really and truly?" The grownups looked at each other and shrugged.

"Really and truly," Mary breathed, unable to quell her laughter as the girls squealed loudly and clapped.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" Belle added on, her gaze travelling from one parent to the other.

"Cross my heart," Matthew returned. "But I refuse to hope to die. Not when I have so much to live for."

The girls bounded on to the bed, erupting into a barrage of giggles and hugs before four small hands found themselves draped across Mary's middle.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Anna asked, cocking her brow in a mannerism so like her mother.

"There's no way of knowing yet," Mary replied softly. "He or she is far too little to tell."

"She must be little if she fits in there," Anna mused, patting her mother's belly in emphasis.

"You once fit in there, young lady," Mary teased, making Anna giggle as Belle stared at everyone thoughtfully.

"What is it, Belle?" Matthew asked, stroking her cheek. "Aren't you happy about the baby?"

"Yeah—I'm really happy," the girl nodded.

"Then what's on your mind?" She looked at her father, shaking her head as if he should try harder to keep up.

"It's just that I told you this would happen," she insisted with a roll of her eyes. "See what you get when you kiss so much?"


	6. Feeling Rotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isobel and Anna have an enlightening conversation

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well, Anna," Isobel sighed as she led the girl out of the school. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"Not 'til after breakfast," Anna mumbled, rubbing her nose. "My throat hurts."

"Well, I'm going to take you to see Dr. Childers," Isobel assured her. "I've already made the appointment, so we'll go straight there."

"Where's Mommy?" Isobel turned to face Anna as they buckled their seatbelts.

"She had an appointment," Isobel explained with a smile. "I'll take you home as soon as we finish at the doctor's office."

"She's feeling rotten, too," Anna observed, leaning her head against the car window. "Almost as rotten as me."

"Your mother?" Isobel questioned. "Well, perhaps you have the same thing." She touched the girl's forehead, her mouth turning down in a frown. "I think you have a fever, sweet girl."

"Mommy doesn't have a fever," Anna stated confidently.

"How do you know?" Isobel asked as she backed out of her parking place.

"She told us so yesterday," Anna replied.

"Well, that's good," Isobel returned. "But I'm fairly certain that you do."

"Then Doctor Childers will use his thermometer, won't he?" Anna questioned. "But not the funny kind that Mommy has."

"Funny kind?" Isobel grinned. "Does she have one of those that beep across your forehead?'

"No," Anna answered. "That's the kind Dr. Childers uses."

"Oh," Isobel returned. "When I was a little girl, we only had one kind of thermometer, and you don't want to know where we had to put it."

"Daddy told me," Anna murmured, scrunching her nose. "And I thought the ear ones were bad." Isobel smiled back at the girl from the rearview mirror.

"So what makes your mother's thermometer so odd?"

"It doesn't use numbers," Anna explained, grimacing as she swallowed.

"How strange," Isobel commented. "How can it be a thermometer if it doesn't have any numbers?"

"I'm not sure," Anna admitted. "But it told her she was a-okay when she used it."

"A-okay?" Isobel shook her head, trying to make sense of this jumbled knot.

"That's what she said," Anna shrugged.

"And just how did it do that?" Isobel pressed, more intrigued by this thermometer than she should be.

"It gave her a plus sign," Anna answered. "That's all I know."

"A plus sign?" Isobel repeated. "And this happened yesterday, you say?" Anna nodded, clearly tired of talking as Isobel's mind computed the facts before her with lightning speed. "And she's feeling bad, too?" Anna nodded again, fatigue shadowing her eyes.

"Yeah," the girl whispered. "She feels rotten, and she slept a lot yesterday."

"I see," Isobel observed, feeling a warm sensation skitter inside her ribs. "Did she or your father tell you anything else, Anna?" Anna shifted in her seat. "Yes, but they made us promise not to tell anybody." Isobel laughed quietly.

"Your mother is pregnant, isn't she?"

Anna's eyes widened, and she leaned forward towards the front seat. "How did you know that? Did they tell you, too?"

"No," Isobel clarified. "But that funny thermometer you told me about is not a thermometer at all. It's a special test that lets a woman know if she's going to have a baby or not." Anna sat in silence, her brows clearly working something out in silence.

"So the plus sign means there's a baby growing inside?"

"That's exactly what it means," Isobel affirmed. "And a minus sign means that there isn't."

"But how does it know?" the girl asked, clearly bewildered. "If the baby is so small that nobody can see it like Mommy said?"

"That's a very good question," Isobel encouraged. "It searches for a certain hormone that women produce only when they're pregnant. If that hormone is in the woman's urine, then a baby is growing in her womb."

"Urine?" Anna exclaimed. "You mean pee?"

"Yes," Isobel stated matter-of-factly. "I mean pee."

"Ewww!" Anna muttered. "And Belle touched it!"

"She what?" Isobel asked.

"She touched the pregnancy thermometer," Anna clarified. "And it had been in pee!"

"She'll be alright," Isobel assured her with a laugh. "Right now we need to concentrate on getting you all better." Anna settled back into her seat, still processing all that she had learned.

"You'll still be my grandmother, won't you?" The question smacked Isobel out of nowhere, and she gazed into rounded brown eyes awaiting her response.

"Of course I will, sweet girl," Isobel assured her. "I just became your grandmother not long ago, but I'll be your grandmother for the rest of your life. Why do you ask?" Anna shrugged and swallowed.

"Just 'cause I'm different than Belle and the new baby," she replied softly. "I have a different daddy. Birth daddy, I mean." Isobel's heart pressed hard against her chest.

"A birth father who loved you very much," Isobel emphasized. "And now you have a man who is your father by choice, just as I am your grandmother by choice. Choosing to love someone and make them a part of your family forms just a strong a bond as blood, Anna. When your father and mother got married, they chose you and Belle as well as each other. Don't ever forget that." The girl sighed audibly from the back seat.

"Daddy told me the same thing once," Anna said softly. "On my birthday."

"You can believe it," Isobel returned. "Every word."

"And you choose to be my grandmother?" The question fluttered over her heart-strings with the delicacy of twilight's edge.

"Yes," Isobel answered. "I choose you to be my granddaughter, and I couldn't ask for a finer one." A soft smile spread across pale skin, breaking out dimples on the child's face. "Now tell me, Anna, do you want a brother or a sister?"

"A sister, I think," Anna answered. "But I don't know. Would I have to give her my Barbies? I already share with Belle."

"No," Isobel insisted. "By the time the new baby is old enough to play with Barbies, you'll have moved on to something else." She paused and licked her lips. "But don't you think it might be nice to add a boy to the family? To have a baby brother?" Anna scrunched her nose.

"Why?"

"Well, for variety," Isobel explained. "There are already a lot of girls in our family, you know." The girl sat in silence for several moments, creasing her brow in a manner so like her mother Isobel couldn't help but smile.

"Nah," Anna reasoned in all seriousness after giving the matter serious thought. "We already have Daddy. I think that's enough for all of us."


	7. A Fond Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt requesting Matthew's POV when he decides to take off his first wedding ring. Set after the evening at the movies in Chapter 8 of PDPB.

God. Just God.

Her face swam with clarity before him when he closed his eyes, the scent of her perfume still clinging to his collar, the taste of her skin branded on his tongue.

"Josie", he had jokingly called her on their way home from the movie theater, making the girls break into a chorus of giggles in the back seat before bursting into yet another improvised round of "Let it Go."

"Watch out, Reginald," she had tossed back, the lilt of his middle name sliding off her tongue and heating his insides in a way he never thought possible. "Your middle name is far worse than mine."

"And just how do you intend to prove that?" he retorted, catching the flicker of her eyes as passing headlights lit the interior of his car.

"I have my ways," she hummed quietly. "If you're not afraid to dive in head-first and find out for yourself." His groin had nearly exploded into his boxers.

How badly he wanted this woman. How much she had already made him love her. Belle had fallen asleep within seconds of falling into her mattress, but he had been restless, tugging off his shirt and pants in favor of cotton shorts that fell low around his hips. He sat on the edge of his bed, his lonely bed last shared with his wife now more than two years ago. An image of strawberry locks strewn about her pillow, of crystal eyes smiling up at him groggily hit him soundly in the gut, and he stared at his wedding band, giving it a twist. His skin prickled from the inside out.

"I've met someone, Lavinia." Somehow voicing it aloud was more difficult than he had anticipated, yet a sense of freedom bubbled up in his chest, prompting him smile into an empty room. "I think you'd like her," he continued, staring up at the ceiling. "Her name is Mary. She's smart and funny, she loves Greek food and The _Outlander_ books, and..." He broke off, lips pressing together in thought. "She's an excellent mother."

He swallowed down a lump before exhaling audibly. He remembered Belle's look of adoration as she gazed up at this new woman in her life, making him recognize the girl's innate need for a mother, aching at the reality that she had been lacking one as a part of her young existence for far too long. His daughter had no memory of her mother. An old wound throbbed as if just unearthed.

"Belle thinks the world of her," he stated softly. "And Mary is marvelous with her, truly. She goes out of her way to make her feel special and comfortable. God, she's…" He broke off, standing and moving to a wedding photo sitting framed on his dresser. "She's good for me," he finished, tracing the cool pewter surface. "She's good for both of us."

Smiles from a lifetime ago stared back at him, and he felt the band once more beneath his fingers as his chin began to quiver.

"It's time, I think," he managed, allowing tears to fall unhindered, hot and cleansing, sweet and bitter. He bit his lower lip harder than he realized as he slid the ring from his hand, staring at its gold simplicity, turning it under the light. He set the band gingerly down in front of the photograph, seeing its mirrored image staring back at him from the glass. How young they had been, how blissfully unaware of what was coming. How naïve to what really mattered in this life. He stepped back to gaze into the mirror, noting circles under his eyes that hadn't been there before. His finger felt odd, bare where there had been a marker, naked and shaped, open and trembling to what future might unfold before him. His thumb traced newly uncovered skin, and he stood taller as thoughts of two different women warmed him to his core. Then he sensed it, just a hint of the lotion she had applied nightly before bed, undeniably a memory, undeniably Lavinia's, undeniably close.

"Thank you, Livvie," he breathed, remembering how her nose would scrunch in a manner identical to Belle's whenever he used that particular nickname. And with that he laughed freely, knowing with a certainty that she had indeed granted him her approval.


	8. Mother's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to a prompt for something about Mary from Belle's POV.

She watched in silence as Anna proudly held out her bag of goodies, seeing her mother's face beam brightly as she marveled over the purple foam picture frame decorated with butterflies and hearts. She didn't move as the pasta necklace was laid over her gold chain with pride, as paper flowers in a decorated jar were exclaimed over with kisses and compliments, as a poem enhanced by hand prints and glitter was met with tears and a hug.

She hesitated as her father presented her with a box wrapped in the prettiest paper Belle had ever seen, shiny and sparkly and just the color of a wedding gown. It was the silver charm bracelet they'd seen in the mall, the one her mother had noticed in the widow on their way to _Gymboree_ , the one she had paused to stare at in silence, one she had seen her father look at with a grin on his face.

"It's all so beautiful, so perfect," her mother had gushed, Belle's gift kept tucked securely behind her back in fidgeting hands feeling smaller by the second. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

She backed into the corner, her stomach flopping around, and she wished she had broken into her piggy bank to get her new mother something better than what she held nervously out of sight.

"Belle? What is it, sweetheart?"

Her chin began to quiver as all eyes fixed on her, and she dropped her head, wanting to turn invisible and fly away. Her mother's steps stopped just in front of her, and she knelt down to her level, turning up her chin.

"What's the matter?" her mother questioned. "Won't you tell me?"

"I made you something," she answered, gulping in air. "But I'm afraid you won't like it." Mary gathered her into her arms, stroking her hair just the way she liked it.

"Of course I'll like it, Belle," her mother assured her. "I love everything you make." Her hands moved around to her front, and she handed the paper to her mother, a small essay written in markers, framed by pink construction paper with a yellow ribbon glued to the top.

"I've never made a Mother's Day card before," she admitted quietly, wondering why her mother's hands were now shaking.

"What I like about having a Mommy," her mother read, her voice sounding a little strange. "By Belle Margaret Crawley." Her daddy sat down on the floor with a plop, and Anna crawled into his lap. Why were his eyes so big, Belle wondered. Then her mother began to read again.

"I like having a new mommy because she always smells nice. She knows how to make macaroni and cheese even better than my grandmother, and she give me lots of hugs every day."

"I wouldn't tell mother about the mac and cheese," her daddy interrupted as her mommy wiped away a tear.

"Don't worry," her mommy grinned, shaking her head as she cupped Belle's face. "I won't say a word." She smiled back at Belle just the way she had smiled at the wedding before she began to read again.

"I like how she sings to me at night. I like how she brushes my hair and even knows how to braid it and fix it in a ballet bun. Daddy can't do that, but Mommy can." Belle looked at her father to see if he was angry. He wasn't. He was smiling. "I like that she treats me like her real daughter when I'm really not. But she feels like my real mommy to me, and I love her."

Then her mother was crying, really crying, and Belle couldn't tell if she was happy or upset.

"Are you ok, Mommy?" she whispered, seeing her father wipe his cheeks, too.

"Oh, Belle," her mother smiled, pulling her into a hug she felt all over. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever read." She wanted to jump up and down, but she couldn't move, so she hugged her back instead, feeling wet kisses all over her cheeks.

"And I am real, my precious girl. As real as you want me to be."

"I want you forever," Belle whispered, careful not to crush the pasta necklace as her mother held her tightly once again.


	9. The Nightcap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to a prompt received on tumblr: Mary/Matthew: Should I be jealous? 
> 
> *Technically, this one chapter should be rated M.

"I think tonight turned out very well," Mary hummed, unclasping her earrings as she slid out of her heels. "Don't you?"

"Hmmm," he muttered to himself, avoiding her eyes as he tried to loosen his tie, finding it a further source of frustration rather than the distraction he needed.

"This account would appear to be in the bag," she continued, seemingly oblivious to his foul temper as she worked her way out of her dress and began to tug pins from her hair. "Congratulations are in order."

"To whom?" he shot back, turning on her quickly. "Me or you?"

She froze where she stood, her hair falling haphazardly half-way down her neck.

"To you, of course," she returned, eyeing him closely. "Who else? You're the one who has put in countless hours trying to lock in this client. I was just there tonight to support you." He chuckled bitterly, his mouth still tasting of expensive bourbon as he stepped in her direction.

"I don't think Mr. Thornton even knew I was at the table," he observed, opening his hands. "His eyes never left you or that blasted red dress the entire evening." Her brow went up half-cocked.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who suggested I wear this particular dress," she reminded him, picking the garment up from the floor, standing before him in a scarlet demi-bra and matching panties. "Or am I mistaken?" He stared back at her, recognizing the thin edge of ice lacing her tone.

"No," he returned. "You're not mistaken. I just had no idea how much charm you would toss in Thornton's direction over wine and dinner."

"Jon Thornton is a very charming man," she shot back defensively. "He's also intelligent, extremely interested in educational policy and the flaws in our current national system, and a fellow lover of Ella Fitzgerald. Is it a crime that I enjoyed conversing with him?" He felt his face heat, the fact that her cleavage was staring him accusatorially making his ears all the redder.

"If he had been paying more attention to your conversation and less to your breasts, I might not have minded so much," Matthew exclaimed, his voice harder than she had ever heard it.

"Wait just a minute," she fired back hotly. "Are you telling me that you're jealous?" He burned with mortification at her astute observation, feeling an increased throbbing behind his temples as he wished for perhaps the first time since they first met that she would put on more clothes.

"Should I be jealous?" he retorted, hating how immature he sounded even to his own ears. He watched her pupils dilate, and he had to physically fight back the urge to press her against the wall and kiss her everywhere at once. Rough sex had never sounded so appealing.

"Perhaps you should try paying more attention to what's right in front of you rather than to your own testosterone-induced imagination," she hummed, and he knew she arming herself for battle. Shit—he had never felt so aroused.

"How could I miss what's right in front of me?" he questioned, stepping into her space and breathing on her neck. "It's damned-near impossible to overlook." His fingers traced the laced edge of her bra, her eyes flashing a warning in his direction, as she grabbed his wrist with force.

"So you can ignore what I have to say and ogle my breasts, but if another man notices that I have cleavage, I should refuse to speak with him and cover myself?"

"Damn it, Mary," he fired back. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Do I?" she questioned sharply. "Then tell me, Matthew, what the hell do you mean?"

He grabbed her waist possessively and pulled her flush to his body, his lips taking hers with sheer force as she bit his lower lip. "Again," he breathed, and he felt her mood shift, her fingers pressing into his scalp as she sucked what she wanted from his mouth. Their battle of wills clashed tongue to tongue, and she forced him down on the bed, straddling his lap, heating all over at the primal noises rising out of his chest as he grabbed her bottom and nibbled his way down her neck.

"Idiot," she sighed roughly as she bit the flesh just below his ear, pressing herself against him until he was shaking with need.

"Siren," he managed, unfastening her bra and throwing against the wall with such fervor that it actually made a sound. How his shirt had come off was a mystery, and he had no memory of removing his pants, but the feel of her salty and slick against every inch of him was driving him to the point of insanity. Then she pushed him down on the mattress, and he rolled on top of her, only to feel her leg hook over his thigh as she reclaimed the top position.

"Are you willing to admit just how wrong you were, Crawley?" She hovered over him, her hair draped wildly over them both, her nipples just brushing his own, her heated panting on his neck making him harder by the second.

"That you're a siren?" he smirked roughly. "Never." She gyrated slowly against him, making his head fall back in surrender as his fingers pressed into her derriere.

"That I give a damn what Mr. Thornton or anybody else thinks about my boobs," she hummed throatily, her eyes rolling back as his fingers found and squeezed a pert nipple. "There's only one man whose opinion I care about, and he's currently getting a private viewing."

A genuine chuckle bubbled up from his chest, and he dragged her lower lip through his teeth, mesmerized by the way her back arched against him, transfixed by the sheer need on her face, dazzled by the wild sexuality harnessed just beneath the surface that was his wife.

"Dare I ask for a private tasting as well?" he breathed, flipping her over yet again, madly aroused by the sheer sound of her laughter.

"I suppose that can be arranged," she whispered, her fingers making him cry out as they latched around him with a firm grip. "Once you admit the obvious, that is."

"That you're a siren?" he returned, perspiration breaking out all over his neck as her hand took on a pulsing motion.

"That you're a jealous idiot of a husband sometimes," she grinned in response, groaning into his mouth as he kissed her hard.

"I'm a jealous idiot of a husband, sometimes," he mouthed onto her shoulder, feeling her nipples pebble into his chest as his mouth worked its way steadily downward to her naval. "Are you sufficiently convinced?"

"Convince me again," she commanded, her voice cut by a different kind of kiss that made further conversation impossible.


	10. Focusing on What Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle begins having problems at school

He found her sitting alone on the couch, neither girl out and about, the house mysteriously and almost alarmingly quiet.

"What's wrong?' Matthew questioned, searching the room for any other signs of life. "Is everyone alright?"

Mary looked back at him, rubbing the top of her forehead as she extended a piece of paper in his direction. He took it and glanced it over, his brow creasing in a frown.

"From Belle and Anna's teacher," he noted, reading it again more thoroughly. "Belle is having problems in school?" Her disbelief mirrored his, and she pulled her knees into her body, giving him room to sit down beside her.

"That's what the note says," she answered, shaking her head. "She's always been such a good student. This makes no sense."

"No," Matthew agreed, looking in the direction of the girl's rooms. "Is she in hiding?"

"She burst into tears the moment we walked in the front door," Mary answered. "And practically ran to her room. Anna tried to get in but finally gave up and locked herself in her own." She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, looking back at him in concern. "Don't get me wrong—l like the peace and quiet, but not like this."

"No," he agreed with an audible sigh. "Not like this."

"Will you go and talk to her?" Mary questioned. "Maybe she'll listen to you." He noticed her hand stray to her still flat stomach, unable to stop the small smile that tugged on his mouth at the mere thought of what grew inside her.

"I'll try," he stated, touching her knee, leaning in for a kiss. "She's far too hard on herself, you know. She always has been."

"Oh, I know," Mary agreed, biting her lower lip. "And it hurts to see her so upset." He prepared to rise, only to stop at the look of fatigue that flittered across her face.

"Are you alright?" he questioned. "Both of you?" She smiled softly, nodding in return as he pressed his hand over hers.

"I'm fine," Mary mused. "She's been fairly agreeable today, actually. I haven't thrown up at all, and I even ate pasta for lunch."

"Living dangerously, are you?" he grinned, stroking her fingers. "And I'm glad he's been behaving himself. A boy should take care of his mother."

"I agree, but this baby is a girl, as I've told you before," she insisted with a small smile. "You won't convince me otherwise."

His heart squeezed at the memories of what she had told him, how Charles had said something very similar about Anna before he had died, knowing the same thoughts had to be swirling in her own mind. He took her hand within his and kissed it, tugging her into his side, reveling in the warm life he held in his arms.

"Will you be convinced if the ultrasound shows an extra appendage?" he teased, feeling her slight chuckle in his ribs.

"I suppose I'll have to be," she conceded. "But if there's not one, I expect to be treated to dinner at Giuseppi's."

"And if there is?" he asked playfully.

"Then you'll treat me to Bella Notte," she stated, making him grin. "Either way, I win."

"You're on," he agreed without hesitation. "Craving Italian now, are you?"

"Like crazy," she smiled, her eyes then creasing again in concern. "Go talk to her, Matthew. Please."

"I will," he stated, standing and staring at the note on the table. "And why don't you call Mrs. Coston and set up a conference. We'll get to the bottom of this. For Belle."

She nodded, and he moved away from her, his gut cinching in a painful knot. God no, he prayed to himself more insistently with each step he took, hoping with every fiber of his being that his daughter wasn't showing signs of the dyslexia that had plagued him mercilessly as a child. 


	11. Trials of the Toothfairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Matthew argue over Tooth Fairy responsibilities.

"So I took care of the tooth."

His words sneaked into her sleep-addled brain, their implication cutting through one synaptic nerve at a time.

"Wait—Anna's tooth?"

"Of course, Anna's tooth," he muttered as he slid under the sheets. "Do we have any other missing teeth around here that I don't know about?" She mumbled under her breath as she rolled over to face him, her expanding middle making the maneuver more difficult than it should be.

"I already tucked a dollar under her pillow," Mary sighed. "Right before I came to bed. I didn't want to end up with the same disaster we had last time when both of us forgot about Belle."

That had been a nightmare. If there hadn't been a freakish snow storm raging outside, there's no telling what they would have come up with to appease the girl. As it were, ice-covered wings could hamper the tooth fairy's journey to their house, it would seem, but the magical being had managed to make it the next night, righting everything in Belle's little world.

"Oh," Matthew uttered absently. "I just gave her a five."

"Five dollars?" Mary pushed herself up on her elbow, glaring at him as best as she could in the dark. "You gave Anna five dollars for a tooth?"

"It was the smallest bill I had in my wallet," he explained as he settled into his pillow. "It's better than a ten."

"Matthew Crawley—go and get that five dollar bill out from under her pillow right now." He raised himself up slightly, looking back at her as if she'd grown another head.

"No," he returned. "I might wake her up. God knows it was hard enough maneuvering it under her pillow the first time. And what would I say to her if she were to wake up and catch me in the act?"

"Don't you realize what you've done?" she pressed on. "Now we owe both girls six dollars for every tooth they lose. Six dollars! They'll amass a small fortune before they've finished elementary school, and then this one will start the entire process all over again. God help us if we have any other children after this baby." She rubbed her belly for emphasis, receiving a sharp internal kick in response.

"There goes our retirement," he hummed, clearly unconcerned. "Shall I file for bankruptcy tomorrow or the day after?" Her eyes narrowed as her internal thermostat rose ten degrees.

"You're being an ass," she stated, crossing her arms over her abdomen.

"And you're being pregnant," he retaliated, unprepared for the sound whack she dealt him with the spare pillow. "Ouch!"

"That was a low blow," she growled. "Apologize to me and the baby at once." His sigh was nearly as loud as the thunder rumbling in the distance. "Matthew…"

"Alright," he hissed. "I'm sorry, Baby. Are you satisfied?"

"You forgot me," she snapped, flicking his head with her finger.

"Because you keep abusing me," he complained, rubbing his temple in the process. "The girls are going to wonder why I'm bruised so badly come morning." Something snapped inside her, and she managed to roll out of bed, grabbing her pillow in a huff as she began to pull at the comforter. "What are you doing?" he asked, sitting up straight as he engaged her in a game of blanket tug-of-war.

"Moving to the couch," she stated. "I can't sleep in the same bed with someone who would insult the mother of his unborn child." He stopped mid-retort at the sound of a muted sniffle. "Shit," she exclaimed as she dropped the blanket and waddled off to the bathroom. "I have to pee."

He heard her from the next room, muffled curses and tears making him feel just like the ass she accused him of being.

"Mary," he stated, pulling his own body out of bed and padding towards the bathroom door. "I'm sorry. Come back to bed."

"I can't," she retorted through the wall. "I'm stuck on the toilet."

He chuckled in spite of himself, the action making himself cough violently as he tried to swallow down the sound.

"Are you alright?" she asked just before flushing. He was bent over now, trying to catch his breath and doing a poor job of it.

"I'll live," he managed just before he heard her turn on the water to wash her hands. That struck him as funny, too, and he began to laugh again, broken barks of air puffing out between coughs that made him sound like some sort of mutant seal.

"Matthew," she sighed. "What are you doing?" She whacked him on the back, making him cough all the harder.

"Don't hit me again," he insisted as loudly as he could before falling into another series of coughs. He watched as she went to retrieve the water glass from his nightstand, pressing it into his hand with a look of exasperation. "Thank you," he muttered in between gulps, noting how her eyes still managed to flicker dangerously in the dark.

"It's your own fault, you know," she stated once his breathing was back under control. "What you get for paying our daughter six dollars for a tooth and not listening to your wife." She turned away before he could say anything in his own defense, moving back into the bed and fluffing her pillows for emphasis. "One day you'll learn to listen to me, Crawley," she muttered with a flick of her brow, tugging two thirds of the comforter around her rounded form, leaving him standing there and shaking his head, knowing she'd just bested him but completely at a loss for just how it had happened.


	12. A Hairy Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary responds to a hair emergency on Easter Sunday.

"Alright," Mary sighed as she stepped past him into the house. "I'm here. What's this earth-shattering disaster you called me about?"

Matthew gestured to his left, a decidedly rumpled and miserable Belle staring back at Mary and Anna with hair nearly as big as she was.

"I've evidently ruined her hair," Matthew expounded, his voice edged with frustration. "On Easter Sunday, of all days."

"I look like Little Orphan Annie," Belle mumbled, making Anna snigger behind her mother's back. Mary tossed a look of warning in her daughter's direction before kneeling down in front of the other girl, running her fingers through what looked like a spiral perm on crack.

"What happened, Daddy Warbucks?" she questioned, earning herself a reproachful look from the man himself.

"She wanted her hair to be curly," Matthew explained, starting to pace at an aerobic tempo. "So we put her hair up in foam rollers last night. And this morning when we took them out…" Mary pursed her lips together, avoiding eye contact with him lest he read her thoughts all too easily. "What?" he questioned, stopping directly in front of her. "What did I do wrong? I did my best, you know." She stood upright and reached out to his face, rubbing his cheek with her palm, seeing in his eyes the frustrations of a temporarily single father trying to navigate his female-saturated world.

"I know," she assured him. "And we can make this work. Trust me." She took Belle by the hand and led them all back to the girl's bedroom, the floor covered with discarded tights and an extra dress or two. "But we'll have to hurry. Your mother will be none too pleased if we're late for Easter Service." She eyeballed him directly as she picked up Belle's hairbrush. "You know, things like this wouldn't happen if you would just finish packing up these last boxes and move in already."

"I know," Matthew returned, wishing to goodness he hadn't insisted on staying at his place last night to try to finish the packing. He then paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder towards his front door. "Where's Sam? Isn't he with you?"

"No," Mary answered, brushing ginger locks into what looked like a high ponytail. "He left two hours ago."

"Why?" Her hands stopped in mid-brush as she and both girls stared at him in confusion.

"He's having breakfast with your mother," Mary answered, resuming her ministrations to Belles hair and whipping a band securely around it. "I thought you knew that."

"Breakfast?" Matthew echoed, taking another step into his daughter's bedroom. "He asked my mother out for breakfast."

"Actually, I think your mother asked him," Mary hummed, making both girls giggle and Matthew shift uncomfortably. "Come on, Matthew. Don't tell me you haven't noticed how much time they've been spending together recently."

"Well, yes, but…" He stopped, rubbing his head, resuming his pacing before turning back to Mary.

"Gran likes Sam, Daddy," Belle stated. "She always wears her favorite perfume whenever he's around."

"She does?" Matthew asked absent-mindedly, wondering if he would recognize his mother's favorite perfume if he smelled it. Evidently Sam would.

" _White Linen_ ," Mary stated as she began pinning the top of Belle's hair into little loops, eyeing them closely less the fall when she let go. "That's her favorite scent."

"I know that," Matthew lied, feeling completely out of the loop, ignoring Mary's expression of disbelief. "And _Red Door_ , before you ask," tossing out the name of Mary's favorite perfume before anyone could make him feel like any more of an idiot. "I do know that much."

"Grandad thinks she has a beautiful smile," Anna added, her braided up-do putting Matthew's earlier attempts to shame. Belle's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree as she clapped her hands in excitement.

"And Gran thinks his beard is sexy," Belle added, making Anna belly-laugh and Mary snigger under her breath.

"She what?" Matthew exclaimed, tossing his daughter a look that made her shrink back against Mary's chest.

"Your mother evidently appreciates a man with facial hair," Mary tossed back, pinning down more of Belle's hair, making the girl resemble a snowflake princess in her white, full-skirted dress. "I can't say that I blame her." Matthew rubbed his jaw self-consciously, sending Mary a questioning glance she answered with a flick of her brow.

"What's so special about facial hair?" he asked, a bit disturbed than Anna was laughing uncontrollably at this point, her light green frock making her resemble a jolly pixie.

"It's awesome, Daddy," Belle replied with a roll of her eyes. "It makes a man look manly."

"Manly," he repeated, stepping directly up to Mary's side, determined to make her crack. "Am I not manly enough for you, darling?" The girls squealed, and Anna fell back onto the floor, kicking her legs in the air as Mary shot him a look of warning.

"I refuse to answer that in front of the children," she stated flatly. "And if Anna ruins her hair because of you, I'll have your hide, you know."

"Promise?" he whispered into her ear, and she whapped him on the head with the hair brush. "Ow!" he exclaimed, stepping back three times. "What was that for?"

"For distracting me when I'm trying to get us all out the door and to church in time for Easter Service," she shot back, placing a sparkling clip at the front of Belle's new up-do, making the girl _oooh_ and _ahhh_ in wonder. "Your mother will kill us both, if that happens, and I for one do not want to end up on her bad side." She took pity on him then, kissing the spot she'd hit, stroking his lips gently with her own until his over-exaggerated pout began to melt away.

" _Hugo_ ," she noted, indulging in another sniff of his neck. "Your favorite scent. Very manly, by the way."

" _Red Door_ is my favorite, actually," he returned with a wicked gleam in his eye. "It has been for several months now. Although if I get a bruise on my forehead, I may have to reconsider." She eyed him directly, and he tossed her a quirked brow to match her own.

"Come on," Anna instructed, pointing to the clock on the wall. "Isn't it time to go?"

"Yes," Matthew agreed, helping Belle into her sweater as both girls twirled in circles, watching their skirts billow with delight. "We should get going."

Belle and Anna dashed ahead of them as Mary tried to straighten his tie, sighing in resignation as she finally rubbed her fingers over his lapels.

"Should I grow a beard?" he questioned under his breath as they walked out the door. "For the wedding?" She grinned and licked her lips, tossing him an expression he couldn't quite make out in the morning sunshine.

"Try it and see what happens," she teased before sliding into his car, leaving him standing alone, bemused and befuddled once again by the workings of the female mind.


	13. Flashdance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Isobel catch Matthew in a compromising position. 
> 
> *This chapter borders on a mild M rating.

"This is lovely."

She chuckled, she couldn't help herself as she snuggled deeper into his chest, inhaling the mingled scents of sex, sweat, and the _Old Spice_ body wash she now associated with him.

"Its heaven," she agreed, stretching against him like a lazy cat, prompting him to lower his face down to hers and claim her mouth in a searing kiss. She hummed into his mouth, enjoying every leisurely sensation down to her tingling tailbone. "It's been too long since we've been able to take our time." His fingers traced a linear pattern up and down her arm, giving her goosebumps she had no desire to rub away.

"I think we've mastered the art of the quickie," he mused, laughing himself at the playful expression she tossed his way in response.

"Something all parents have to learn," she noted, shifting until she was practically lying on top of him, her breasts flush with his chest, her nose within nudging distance of his chin. "Along with how to have an orgasm without making a sound."

"You still haven't mastered that one," he goaded, and she pushed herself up on her elbows, staring down at him incredulously. "What?" he returned. "You make noises all the time."

"I do not," she argued, giving his chest a light swat.

"You do, too," he insisted, scooting up on his pillow just a bit.

"What kind of noises?" she asked.

"Little squeaks," he answered, unable to stop the smile that erupted from the look of horror on her face. "Moans, sighs. I especially like it when you curse in my ear." Her mouth was opened, but her rebuttal stopped before it could get out.

"I know I swear," she admitted, her eyes quickly warning him away from an I told you so expression. "But I have never squeaked in my life."

"Yes you do," he stated. "Especially when kiss you right on your…" The rest of his sentence was cut off by a pillow to the face. "Hey!" he protested, pulling the pillow from her grasp and tossing it off the bed. "What was that for?"

"For making me sound like a mouse," she tossed back, squealing in earnest as he pinned her quickly, kissing a breathless laugh into silence as her arms snaked around his neck. Her foot inched its way up the back of his leg as one hand moved downward, cupping his ass playfully before giving it a sound pinch. He made a noise and pushed himself up, noting the look of triumph on her face.

"I think that qualifies as a squeak," she mused, looking all too pleased with herself.

"That's cheating," he contested, narrowing his eyes just before he pounced. She screamed as he tried to tickle her, thrashing around when he finally managed to maneuver his fingers into her armpits. He was relentless in spite of her bucking, bringing tears to her eyes from laughing so hard.

"Stop!" she cried, finally managing to place her feet in a position that allowed her to thrust him up and off of her body. He laughed, but then her feet were on his back, pushing and pressing him to the edge of the mattress, savoring the look on his face just before she managed to kick him to the floor.

"Ouch," he muttered as she tried to peer over the side of the bed. "I think I bruised a cheek."

She snickered, she couldn't help it, but then he rose like a phoenix from the ashes, brandishing the same pillow she'd pummeled him with earlier, making her squeal and dive under the comforter for protection.

"As if that will save you," he said, whapping her with the pillow a few times through the soft material before tossing it back to the headboard. "I think I'll go get a drink. You've worn me out, woman." She popped out from the blankets, her hair pointing in at least fifty different directions at once.

"Like that?" she questioned, eyeing his naked body from head to toe.

"Why not?" he shrugged. "The girls will be at Roland's party for at least another hour, and God only knows how long Sam and mother will be with his apartment search. Did you see the itinerary she printed out this morning?" She rolled her eyes and nodded.

"It was rather extensive."

"Precisely," Matthew agreed. "So what's to stop me from roaming around in my birthday suit for once?"

Thunder rumbled in the distance, catching her attention as she looked over her shoulder towards the bedroom window. She rolled out of bed and peaked through the closed blinds, hopping back under the comforter in search of warmth.

"It's going to storm," Mary stated. "That might cut apartment hunting short."

"Not that short," he uttered, throwing the bedroom door open and sauntering out into the hallway. She heard his footsteps followed by the sounds of him pilfering around in the kitchen, and she fell back on to her pillow, snuggling under the sheets as she enjoyed the feeling of being well-sexed and thoroughly satisfied. She loved having him here with her like this. Then she heard something that was out of place—a car door slamming shut, maybe, voices moving towards her house from the outside. Shit—the laugh, that was Sam's laugh, no question, and she sat straight up in bed, clutching the comforter to her chest as she heard the sound of the front door opening accented by scurrying feet pounding their way back to her bedroom. Matthew slammed the door shut behind him, twisting the lock for good measure before turning to face her, his face drained of color, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. A burst of laughter tore out of her chest as she watched him press his fingers to his lips in desperation, his ear pressed to the door as if he were listening for something.

"Did they see you?" she whispered. His brow contorted into a pained expression, and he shrugged helplessly, making her laugh all the harder. She buried her face into the pillow to muffle the sound, waving him off when he shushed her. "They know we're here," Mary stated. "Both of our cars are in the driveway, for God's sake." She stood then and grabbed up her discarded clothes, tugging them on before motioning for him to do the same. He grudgingly pulled up his jeans and tucked in his t-shirt, tossing her an award worthy pout as she placed a soft kiss on his lips.

"I'll wait two minutes before following you out," he suggested.

"Why?" she asked. "Matthew, your mother knows that we're having sex. So does Sam. We're engaged, if you remember, and you're in the process of moving in." He waved her off before placing his hands on her shoulders.

"She has her suspicions, I'm sure," he reasoned. "But thinking it and seeing her only child stroll out of a bedroom with his fiancé…" She tossed him a pointed brow and walked out of the room before he could finish his thought. He heard her greeting both Sam and his mother, the conversation easy, her discomfort not showing at all, if she felt any discomfort, that is. He wished he could be as calm as Mary, but his cheeks were burning on both ends, and all he wanted to do was crawl back under the covers and lock the door until his mother and Sam left. How in God's name was he supposed to face his mother when she'd more than likely seen him streaking through Mary's house just moments ago?

He felt like a rejected auditionee for _The Full Monte._

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, sucking in air through his nostrils and steadying himself. One last tug to his t-shirt, one last check of his hair which was beyond repair at this point if he were being honest. But he stood up straight and clasped the door handle firmly in his hand, turning it with purpose before making himself take the first step out into the small hallway between her bedroom and the open living room area. There they were—the three of them—Mary and Isobel on the couch, Sam in the oversized chair, laughing and chatting as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary.

As if he hadn't been grunting and grinding just minutes ago against the woman now tossing him a quizzical look, the taste of her climax still in his mouth.

He cleared his throat and greeted Sam, self-consciously shaking the man's hand before moving to the loveseat on the opposite side of the room. He couldn't bring himself to look at his mother. And Mary knew it.

Shit.

"I'm sorry your afternoon got cut short," she stated, tossing him a sly expression that made his mouth go dry.

"It was still productive," Sam returned. "I think we found a place both of us find satisfactory."

Wait—both of them? What had Sam meant by that remark?

"A first floor, two bedroom apartment at _The Ridings_ ," Isobel continued without missing a beat. "It has a lovely patio that looks out on a lake. There's a swimming pool, a golf course nearby, and a Jacuzzi tub in the master bath. I've always wanted one of those."

"You've what?" he stuttered, shaking his head at the turn in conversation just as a blast of thunder rocked the house. Three sets of eyes stared back at him wordlessly, clearly taken aback by his small outburst. "I mean," he stammered. "You've never mentioned wanting a Jacuzzi before."

"You never asked," Isobel quipped with a small shrug. Her eyes then narrowed, the edges of her mouth twitching in an upward direction. "And frankly, there are some things a mother and son shouldn't necessarily discuss. Wouldn't you agree, Matthew?"

Sam tried to muffle a snort laugh, as did Mary, although she was failing miserably, and he felt every one of her giggles right in his gut. His ears were burning—no, that wasn't right—his entire face was on fire, and he stared down at his hands, clearing his throat once again as he sought his voice.

"Yes, mother," he murmured, wondering if everyone in the room could hear the blood rushing to his head as loudly as he could. His tongue moved independently of thought for a moment, and he tried unsuccessfully to swallow, the texture of his mouth feeling oddly like paste. "I couldn't agree more."


	14. What Directions?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepping for Christmas Morning gets a bit stressful

"So you're saying I don't know how to put together a child's bicycle?"

"I did not say that, Matthew." Mary sighs, wrapping her flannel robe around her a notch tighter as she takes a step close to the cluttered pile of parts and tools that look more like a jigsaw puzzle than a gift from Santa. God, she can see her breath out here in the garage.

"But that's what you meant."

"That's not what I meant," she argues. "I'm trying to say that…"

"And just how many bicycles have you assembled, Mary? If the answer is less than one, I suggest you get back inside where you can actually feel your fingers and let me finish this piece of shit before Anna wakes up tomorrow to no gift from Santa under the tree."

"You can freeze to death out here for all I care, Matthew Reginald," she retorts, hefting her rounding belly in his direction as she practically slams the mug of coffee she'd brought him down on the workbench. "But once you decide to stop acting like a spoiled eight year old, you might want to check your directions one more time."

He breathes in and out, looking more like the Grinch than Buddy the Elf, but he finally grabs up the paper marked with print so small its a wonder anyone can read it and squints to make out the details.

"Shit."

The paper is waded up and thrown to the other side of the garage, his head hanging as his ears glow a shade remarkably close to Rudolf's nose.

"That's what you were trying to tell me?" he sighs. "That I was looking at the instructions for Belle's bike instead of Anna's?"

She flicks her brow in his direction before heading back towards the warmth of the house.

"Watch out for coal in your stocking tomorrow," she quips, hearing him swear once more before shutting the door behind her.


	15. The Double Standard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary faces insecurities about getting back into the workplace.

She's a wreck, hands wringing, her nails actually showing signs of wear and tear, signs he'd never noticed until the past two weeks.

"You're going to be fine, Mary." She sighs before turning back towards him, her eyes lolling back into her head.

"You can't know that, Matthew. I haven't interviewed in ages." Hands fidget as she turns back to stare at her image, straightening hair that looks immaculate already.

"But I do know it," he assures her, moving behind her and laying his hands on her shoulders. He kneads tight muscles, watching in satisfaction as her eyes close and her head leans back on to his body. "You're intelligent, well-spoken, qualified...not to mention drop dead gorgeous." That gets a begrudging grin out of her, one accompanied by a throaty chuckle.

"That final trait wasn't listed as a part of the job requirements," she hums, sighing into him as his lips touch down on her neck.

"No," he agrees. "But it sure as hell can't hurt." He kisses her then, he has to, he can't resist pale lips just begging for his mouth, lips still devoid of lipstick tasting of _Crest_ and the remnants of morning coffee. His hands coast down until they wrap around her middle, unable to keep themselves from caressing her hips, her back, her stomach. It's when he gets to the latter that she stiffens.

"What is it?" he asks, moving his mouth from hers before moving his gaze to hers in the mirror. A frown greets him as her hands push his away from her middle.

"Do you think I look fat?" The question takes him by surprise, and he laughs, stopping immediately upon spotting the sincere lines of worry creasing her forehead.

"No," he chuckles, rubbing his fingers along her waistline, softer and more rounded from recently giving birth. "Why would you think that?"

"Because of this." She guides his hands to a slight swelling that has yet to recede, one he thinks makes her look even more perfect but fills her eyes with insecurity.

"You had a baby five months ago, Mary," he states. "You can't expect your stomach to be as flat as it was before…" She breaks away from him, moving towards their bed as she wipes the corners of her eyes. Post-partum hormones gave her a rough time of it for several weeks after coming home from the hospital, and even though the roughest emotional stretches now seem to be behind them, he cannot allow himself to forget that she still has fragile moments.

"It shouldn't matter, should it?" The huskiness of her tone compels him towards her, and he turns her around to face him, kissing her forehead, mindful not to mess up her hair.

"It doesn't," he breathes, dotting a kiss to the tip of her nose before enveloping her into his chest. "The size of your waistline has nothing to do with your qualifications."

"Not to you," she murmurs. "But what about...what about to other people? It's been so long since I've even had to try to prove myself like this, Matthew. I don't know who or how many I'll be up against." He wonders if this insecurity is part of what has prompted her to want to get back into the workplace-to leave the confines of their house and stretch her wings again as something other than a wife and mother, to give her an outlet to rediscover the Mary she'd been before becoming the mother of three.

"You don't have to prove anything, Mary. Just be who you are. If you don't get this job, there will be another." She sighs and leans back just enough to take his hands, the iciness of her fingers nearly freezing his on contact. "Remember-you did score an interview. That's quite an accomplishment."

"A few months ago, brushing my teeth was quite an accomplishment," she quips, making him chuckle and pull her back to him for a hug. Her arms wrap around him then, tucked under his arms and around his waist, and he realizes with a bit of a start that the size of his stomach has never been a concern for him when it came to interviewing. What a different set of standards women must battle, standards that suddenly make him angry on behalf of his wife and daughters.

"You're raising three children, tutoring one boy after school, serving as treasurer for the PTO, and putting up with me on a full-time basis. If that doesn't make you overly-qualified for any job out there, I don't know what will." She smiles, brightening his world immediately. "Dinner's on me tonight, no matter what," he adds, earning himself an eyebrow raise of the highest order. "We're celebrating you." She presses her lips together, regarding him with a shake of her head.

"You should have told me that last night, Romeo," she admonishes. "I'm going to need a raincheck on that dinner." He pauses, eyeing her with curiosity.

"Why's that?"

"Because I put a pork roast in the crock pot this morning before I nursed Libby, made breakfast for Belle and Anna and packed their lunches," she returns with a sigh that is only half-exaggerated. He feels a blush crawling up his neck, forgetting sometimes just how much she does without saying a word about it.

"See what I mean about being overqualified?" he puts in, wincing as she tosses him a look. He pulls her to his mouth before she can reprimand him again, kissing her fully until she relents and gives back exactly what she's getting.

"Don't look too smug," she whispers just before stepping away from him in search of her heels and tossing him a wicked grin. "If I take care of dinner, dessert's on you."


End file.
